Meg lifted a hand to her lips, for this additional acknowledgment of the dowager’s shortcomings was unexpected. “Mama,” she whispered, reverting to a less formal address than she usually used.
The dowager lifted her chin. “I know what I am, Margaret. And despite my flaws, I do…care for you. I don’t want to see you become what I am. I know you love your brother, I know he believes he’s doing what is right for you, but do not let anyone force you into what you don’t want.”
Meg bent her head. “The first engagement, to Graham…I didn’t want it. I was too young to argue and then the situation was so far gone I didn’t think I could. Perhaps in that scenario, I would have ended up…unhappy. But with Simon, it is different. I do want to marry him, Mother.”
Her mother smiled. It was such a rare expression, and for a moment Meg caught her breath, for she saw her brother in her mother’s face. She saw herself. She saw whatever could have been for a young woman before she was forced into a loveless, desperately unhappy marriage.
“Then don’t let go,” the dowager said. She cleared her throat and her usual sour expression returned. “My head is throbbing now. I think I shall go find something a bit stronger than tea. Good afternoon, Margaret.”
Her mother left and Meg sank hard into the closest chair to ponder their unexpected conversation. This moment of clarity was not one that would last, she would wager. There was too much pain for her mother to overcome without the help of alcohol. But this was the first time she’d connected with her mother in years—decades, even. And that she could, even in this dark moment, gave her hope.
A hope she decided to cling to with both hands as she faced the uncertain future with a man she no longer understood.
Chapter Eleven
Simon stood in the billiard room, watching as the Duke of Roseford, the Earl of Idlewood and James played a round. By entering the room late, he’d excluded himself from participating, but he was just as happy. Tonight he was in no mood for games.
He was in no mood for a ball, either, but that was what was about to start in less than an hour. Worse, it was his engagement ball and the final event at the country party before the others made their way back to London. The final event before he married Meg and made her his.
His in name. In body, he had already claimed her. Since then, he had avoided her, trying to rein in his lust and his feelings and all the things that had led them to this place. If he didn’t, he feared he’d be swept up in her and not recall what he’d done to get her.
“Will the Duchess of Crestwood be joining the party for the wedding?” Robert asked after he’d taken a shot and passed his cue to Christopher.
Simon flinched, dragged back into the conversation by both the question and the topic. It was yet another unhappy one, for his relationship with his mother had long been strained, to say the least.
“She is my only family, so I’ve asked her to come,” he said. “I sent word two days ago. The message should have reached her today, and if she departed tomorrow to join us, that would have her arrive here at Falcon’s Landing by Tuesday evening at the latest.”
“Your only family,” Kit said softly. “That wasn’t always the case, was it? I mean, weren’t we supposed to be like brothers?”
James straightened and shot their friend a look. “Idlewood,” he said, a gentle warning.
But Christopher didn’t seem deterred. He faced Simon, crossing his arms across his chest. “We talked about this the night Meg and Northfield announced the date of their wedding. Didn’t we?”
Robert and James swung their attention to Simon and both looked confused at the reference. Simon gritted his teeth. “You asked me about my…my situation when it came to Meg and Graham, yes.”
“And in that moment you told me you recognized it was helpless, hopeless, because to act on those thoughts or feelings was to betray a friend. But here we are, aren’t we?”
“Enough,” James said, setting his cue aside and physically stepping between the two men. “This is not helpful, Idlewood. Simon is obviously punishing himself enough for his part in this situation.”
“As I should,” Simon said, turning away from his friends. “I deserve Idlewood’s censure, as I do all of yours. Our friendship, our club, was about brotherhood and support, honor and fealty. That meant the world to me, but I still broke those vows, I don’t claim I did anything else. Because of that, I don’t deserve anything but the contempt of Idlewood and the hatred Graham feels for me. I don’t turn away from it or make any excuse where I can free myself from it. I’ll carry what I did for the rest of my life.”
As Simon looked back at the men, Kit’s expression gentled slightly, but he remained with his arms folded. Simon could well imagine that with Graham’s return to London, once the story of what had happened here with Meg spread far and wide, the others in their club would very likely take sides. They might talk to him still, they might be gentlemanly about it, but clearly he would lose friends over this.
He deserved nothing less.
James stepped forward. “The ball will begin in about ten minutes. Perhaps we should join the others, yes?”
Robert cleared his throat, his gaze moving to Simon. “Should we toast the engagement before we do?”
Simon stiffened at that question. Then he shook his head. “No,” he said softly, and left the room without another word.
Already guests were entering the ballroom at the end of the long hallway and he heard arrivals of other partygoers from the foyer. He drew in a long breath, set his shoulders back and strode down to join the party.
Meg’s cheeks hurt from the false smile that had been plastered onto her face for the past half an hour. A brave face, Emma called it, and her friend occasionally reached out to squeeze her hand and offer support as they stood together at the edge of the dancefloor with James at Emma’s side.
“So far I would call tonight a success,” James said, though Meg heard the faint tension in his tone.
She felt the same tension in herself. A success, it seemed, was to be measured in the fact that there had been no scandal and people were still speaking to her. A low bar to calculate by, indeed. Especially when she looked across the room and saw her fiancé standing alone.
He would not look at her.
Simon’s avoidance, which had begun the day after they made love, stung more than a lash could have. She would have preferred a physical blow at this point. At least that kind of wound presented a chance at recovery if it was treated. But this dragged-out distance that now seemed to loom up between her and Simon…
That was something else entirely. And the longer it went on, the more it permanently scarred her, scarred them.
Emma’s foot tapped beneath the hem of her gown, and Meg sent her a side glance. Once a wallflower, Emma had been reluctant to dance at first. But a few months of marriage to James and Meg knew the new duchess had grown very fond of spinning around in a quadrille or tucking herself into James’s arms for a waltz. Soon enough her growing belly would prevent her from doing either.
“You two should dance,” Meg said, waving them toward the floor. “You haven’t since the party began, and if we are pretending all this is normal and right, then you must behave as you would at any ball. With you two that means dancing so close you scandalize the Upper Ten Thousand.”
Emma blushed, but for the first time tonight, James grinned. “I do like to scandalize the Upper Ten Thousand when I can.”
Emma swatted him on the arm gently. “James!”
He caught her hand and drew her closer. “Come, Emma, let’s turn all their eyes on us, shall we?”
He smiled at Meg, then guided his wife away. Meg could see him murmuring to Emma, close to her ear, and Emma eyes went wide in response. True to his word, he held her far too close as the strains of the waltz began.
Meg sighed at the love they so easily displayed. They had overcome so much to have their moment, their future. She didn’t begrudge t
hem that, but she was also more starkly aware of her own dire situation when she observed it.
“Good evening, Lady Margaret.”
Meg stiffened and turned toward the female voice that had said her name. Her frown deepened as she realized the person who had joined her was Sarah Carlton. She was the same girl who had danced with Simon earlier in the party, the girl Meg had been jealous of when she had no right. Judging from the sour look on her new companion’s face, it seemed the jealousy now cut both ways.
“Miss Carlton, isn’t it?” she asked, trying to strike a friendly, breezy tone.
The young woman nodded once and stepped up next to her, observing those on the dancefloor for a moment.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Meg asked, struggling to behave as she would normally.
Miss Carlton shrugged. “I was.”
“Oh,” Meg said, praying this wasn’t about to become a conversation about her. “Is there something I can do for you, since our hosts are currently dancing?”
Miss Carlton turned on her, eyes narrowing. Meg’s chest tightened at the look, for it was clear this woman’s ire was directed at her. And there could be but one subject.
The one she was trying hard to avoid.
“You had a fiancé,” Miss Carlton hissed, thankfully not too loudly. “A perfectly good fiancé who was a duke. I think an even richer duke than Crestwood, if my mother is to be believed.”
Meg clenched her fists at her sides. “You and I do not know one another well enough to be having this incredibly impertinent conversation.”
“I don’t care if it’s impertinent,” Miss Carlton said with a toss of her blonde hair. “Great God, is any man safe? Will you bore of the Duke of Crestwood soon enough and move on to another? Will you suck up all the eligible men in the countryside and leave none for anyone else?”
“You have no idea what you are talking about,” Meg snapped, her patience wearing thin. “Crestwood and I have been friends a very long time and—”
“Friends, my lady? Only friends?” the other woman said, dark and cruel implication dripping from the words.
Miss Carlton blinked, and Meg could see frustrated and desperate tears in her eyes. She didn’t know the woman well, but she remembered Miss Carlton was in a rather bad financial state. If she’d convinced herself that Simon had liked her when they danced, Meg could understand why she would feel something had been taken from her. Something Meg herself didn’t need.
And Meg wanted to feel compassion for the woman. But right now all she felt was a desire to escape her censure and her anger.
“You are overwrought,” Meg said firmly. “And perhaps you’ve had too much punch.”
“I am not overwrought,” the other woman muttered. “I just don’t like to see someone grab for everything in the world because she thinks she can just take, take, take. My only consolation is that this scandal is so desperate that you may never recover. And when they whisper about you, I shall be the first one to tell them what I observed with my own two eyes.”
“That is enough.”
Both women turned and Meg’s cheeks flamed bright. The Earl of Idlewood was now standing just at her side, glaring down at Miss Carlton. He was an old friend of James, Simon and Graham, one of their club of dukes. In fact, he was the only one who hadn’t yet inherited his ultimate title.
Meg knew him, of course, for he had visited her brother many times over the years. They had always been cordial. But since the incident with Graham, she had sometimes felt his eyes on her…judging. Idlewood was loyal, and she sensed he condemned her on her lack of that quality.
“Lord Idlewood,” Miss Carlton said, her gaze darting away. “I did not see you there.”
“I would wager not, or you would not have said such wretched things,” Idlewood said softly. “Walk away now and go back to your mother. I’d also suggest you start planning on how you’re to tell her.”
“Tell her?” Miss Carlton squeaked out.
Idlewood arched a brow. “When the Duke of Abernathe finds out you were attacking his sister, your invitations to many events are going to disappear. I assume you’ll need to tell your mother why. Now run along.”
Miss Carlton’s lips pressed together tightly and then she turned and walked across the room. Meg let out the breath she hadn’t even known she was holding and glanced up at Idlewood.
“Thank you,” she said. “For coming to my aid.”
He looked down at her, and there was still a dismissive air to him as he sniffed, “I could not allow the sister of one of my closest friends to be spoken to in that manner.”
Meg swallowed. “Even if you agree with the words being said?”
Idlewood’s jaw went tense and he stared off into the crowd. She realized he was looking at Simon, and there was regret on his face.
“I, unlike Miss Carlton, recognize the situation is far more complicated than a mere compromising position.” He shook his head slowly. “Are you going to tell Abernathe what she said to you? If you won’t, I will.”
Meg’s lips parted. “I appreciate your desire to stand up for me, despite your misgivings about my character. But Miss Carlton is already in a precarious position. You were right when you said that James would be angry if he heard she talked to me like that. I don’t want to be responsible for her losing any chances in Society.”
Idlewood’s brow wrinkled. “You’d let it pass?”
She nodded. “I would. I do. She…liked Simon. I certainly cannot blame her for that. Desperation makes people do things they might regret later.”
She glanced once more at Simon and found he was looking back at her at last. She was drawn in immediately. How many times had he stared at her across how many rooms just like this? And she had stared back, telling herself that he only saw her in friendship, that her own feelings were just fleeting foolishness that would fade if she tried to ignore them hard enough.
None of that had been true. Now she understood better. Now she saw the longing in Simon’s eyes, she felt it calling back to him from herself. She realized it had always been that way, their souls reaching out toward each other from whatever distance was between them. Her heart ached at the thought of it, of what they’d almost lost, of what they’d had to sacrifice. And it ached because she wasn’t certain Simon would ever allow himself to be happy because of that sacrifice.
“You do not deserve censure,” Idlewood said softly.
She looked up at him once more, surprised by his words and the gentler tone with which he said them. “No?”
“As I said, it is more complicated, isn’t it?”
She nodded and then motioned her head toward Simon. “And what about him? Does he deserve censure?”
Idlewood lowered his gaze. “Did Crestwood tell you about our encounter in the billiard room?”
She stiffened. “Simon has not spoken to me tonight. I had no idea you’d had some kind of argument. But I have eyes—I can see how you look at me, at him. There are sides being taken here, aren’t there, in your circle of friends? And you are separating yourself from Simon.”
“There were other ways for what has happened to happen,” Idlewood said. “Ways that would have been less damaging. But—”
He cut himself off and Meg stepped closer. “But?”
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so harsh to him. Crestwood is abusing himself enough for both of us. For all of us.”
Meg winced. Yes, that was exactly what he was doing. Punishing himself for what he had done, for who he had betrayed. She looked at Simon again and found he was still watching her. And in that moment, she knew what she had to do. Reach out to him because he did not feel worthy of doing it first.
He needed comfort and she wanted to comfort him.
“Thank you again, Lord Idlewood,” she said with a smile. “Will you excuse me?”
He nodded once and she left him, her heart racing as she moved across the floor toward her future, her best friend, her
destiny. And prayed that he would let her in, even a little, and give her hope that they could someday be happy together.
Chapter Twelve
Simon knew he shouldn’t stare at Meg across the room, but he couldn’t help it. He’d never been able to stop himself. Now, though, she stood with Christopher, and from their expressions it was obvious they were engaged in a serious conversation.
After Kit’s anger in the billiard room, Simon could only imagine what was being said. And he deserved all of it. His heart lurched as Meg said something to the earl, then began to come across the room toward him.
Simon had spent years telling himself to resist this woman. But how could he when she glided through the crowd, her gaze focused solely on him? She was beautiful beyond his capacity for description. And she was his. But only because he had stolen her out from under someone he loved like a brother. Because despite whatever else had happened, he did love Graham.
But he loved Margaret more. That had been all that mattered in the end. That had guided all his selfishness.
She reached him, unaware of his roiling, troubling thoughts, and smiled. That smile lit up the world, lit up his world. “Will you dance with me, Simon?”
He stiffened at the request and the impression it would leave. Them looking happy and light together seemed a cruel slap in the face to Graham.
“Is that a good idea?” he asked.
Her smile faltered, and she swallowed hard before she said, “We’ve always danced before, Simon. Always.”
He shook his head. “And look where it has gotten us.”
Now there was no smile anymore, just a flash of pain and struggle. “Are you determined to be so miserable with where we are?”
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